


everything is roses

by hotmess_ex_press



Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Family Issues, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationship(s), implied underage drinking and smoking, some discussion of depression / suicidal thoughts, this took way too long and is disappointing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 16:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmess_ex_press/pseuds/hotmess_ex_press
Summary: This is what love boils down to once it's had its fun with the people on top, and Jennie knows Chaeyoung only thinks she could love her because that's what the world has taught her she should feel. Jennie doesn't want her empty love, and if Chaeyoung wasn't so blind, she wouldn't want Jennie's, either.//Jennie is loved and left in black and white; the world waits in full color.





	everything is roses

**Author's Note:**

> in this soulmate au, you are born seeing in black and white, you won't see color until you see your soulmate for the first time. you can immediately recognize and name the colors but all your memories will remain colorless.
> 
> as a time marker, all the sections that occur before jennie meets chaeyoung start with "everything is grey"
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Everything is cold. Everything is heavy.

The day, lovely and metallic as it is, bites the tip of Jennie's nose and she sniffs, dragging her sleeve over her face. The metal of the bridge is cold and stings the backs of her thighs; the sting everywhere else must be from the harsh wind. (Even her eyes? Even her eyes.) In clumsy, hideous spirals, the bridge stretches upwards, surely artful and interesting at one point but pitiful now. It reminds Jennie of _before_ , of climbing to catch clouds in neat little jam jars with her father, back when he still tried and her mother was a blur in the background, beautiful and smiling with a camera held up to conceal her sparkling eyes.

Everything seems to press down upon her, sheets of stiff, unmoving clouds constant at her shoulders. Jennie climbs higher, feeling every curve of the bridge through her worn-thin sneakers. The weight of her eyelashes is almost unbearable. She hoists herself up, arms shaking, and sits unsteadily.

She gazes down; the water kneads itself into enticing swirls of black melting into grey flashing white, and it would be so easy to _lean_ forward, tumble broken into the folds of the river.

There is no one around, save for the little doll-people in their shiny little doll-cars, and they are so far down. No one around who would care.

Oh, she's always wanted to fall, fly, curve into darkness.

Her eyes slip closed, head tilting back, gulping down the air always sticky and smoky from the greed and routine of the city, shifting closer to the edge of the rough metal bar. _So easy_.

There's a sudden shriek of tire and brakes, and Jennie whips around, a muted stab of fear slicing through her body, coiling into her toes, at the sensation of almost falling. She grips the ledge, hands sweaty. A shiny doll car is swerving to the side of the road, doll girl spilling out of it in a swish of glossy hair. She is racing towards Jennie with an urgency she is sure she doesn't deserve, until she glances out again.

 _Blue_. Blue and blue and blue, gloomy in the foreboding currents that were looking so good in black and white just a moment ago. The girl is skidding to a stop right below Jennie. Her hair is red and dancing about her frightened face, and this is the fact that sends the fewest stabs of pain through the space between Jennie's eyes, so she clings to it.

 _Fuck._ The girl presses fluttering fingertips to her mouth. There's an ache magnified in the center of Jennie's chest, one that she wants to rip out and hurl far, far away, to sink below the blue, blue surface in place of her body.

"You're... you're--" the girl's voice is lost to the wind, but her raised, gloved hands tell Jennie enough. "Come down."

Jennie's fingers curl tighter into the railings. Her hands feel raw but it's still not enough to ground her. She looks away, screws her eyes shut.

When she opens then, it's to see the girl's mouth trembling around a _please_ , and Jennie just, just wants to _sleep_. But the girl is crying, real shamefaced and needy, and a flicker deep within Jennie just needs to see. She takes a thin breath. In, out. She starts down. The girl sobs all the harder.

Everything is grey.

"My soulmate will be pretty," a five-year-old Jennie promises, pushing her braids away from her face and chewing on her crayon. "With silver eyes."

Her mother laughs, her own eyes clear. "Eyes aren't silver, Jennie. They're brown or blue or green. Not silver."

"Oh," Jennie frowns but starts looking for the crayon with an _S_ , for silver, anyway. "But those are all plain colors. Silver sounds pretty."

"Maybe you'll see them and think differently."

Jennie disagrees. Silver will always be prettiest, probably. She draws wobbly, a head and body and silver eyes. She wishes she had curly hair, so her soulmate probably will. She's always told that her soulmate should _complete her_. She draws it. "My soulmate will always be smiling."

"That'll be nice," her mother hums. The picture is yellow and orange and purple, silver eyes excluded, but it goes on the fridge anyway, because it surely looks good in black and white. Jennie beams.

A six-year-old Jennie's hands wrap around her mother's wrist, watching with wide eyes as her mother cries, burrowed in her own bed. The angry echo of the front door slamming seems to pollute the air, though it's been hours since Jennie's father stormed out, alcohol sharp in his wake.

"My soulmate," Jennie swears, "will never hurt me the way Daddy hurts you."

Jennie is pulled into a desperate, empty embrace-- "I hope so, love, I hope so."

Rain splashes around a seven-year-old Jennie tugging at her father's suit jacket, craving comfort that just won't come from him. She's upset, angry about wearing black when her mother loved her in green, irritated by the rain still dripping onto her arm when she _knows_ the umbrella is big enough for two, sad that neither of them remembered what flowers her mother liked best. Furious at the woman for leaving her, leaving her when she should have just _gotten through it_ the way she promised she would try to.

With contempt, Jennie tells her icy father, "My soulmate will never leave me like this."

He roughly pushes her hands away, not waiting for Jennie before striding off. "Don't give me that soulmate crap," he commands. Always so bitter.

Jennie closes her mouth, keeps it locked. Follows in the cold, the damp, alone.

The only colors in Park Chaeyoung's kitchen are the lush plants on her window sill and the leather cushions on the bar stools: a pale, cloudy pink.

She looks like someone who can _afford_ that, a home in whites and greys to make _this_ day easier. She nudges Jennie's shoes straight and hangs her long charcoal coat on the line of empty hooks in the pristine entryway. She walks as if she's trying to make herself smaller and Jennie hates this.

Chaeyoung had cried quietly the whole way to her apartment, Jennie shifting uncomfortably in the passenger's seat. She determinedly ignores Jennie's stare as she makes tea in her black pencil skirt and cream sweater. Jennie is dreading going back to her shabby house and its mess of colors. Chaeyoung adds two cubes of sugar without asking but it still goes down rough and bitter.

She looks scared to sit so Jennie kicks out a chair.

She licks her lips nervously and Jennie rolls her eyes. "Why--" she starts, but Jennie has a whole lifetime of dodging conversations like this tucked under her belt.

"Forget it," she snaps. Chaeyoung lowers her head, slick crimson strands falling into her face. "Why won't you fucking sit down?"

Chaeyoung flinches but still won't join Jennie at the table, leaning elegantly against the marble countertop. Jennie eyes her, downs the scalding hot tea for something to do. She wants out. "You... I wasn't expecting this," Chaeyoung finally answers softly. Her voice is pleasant, pure and musical. Everything about her is clean.

"What?" Jennie scoffs. "Didn't expect to be talking some girl from a bridge on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life?"

She knows she's being harsh but she just can't bring herself to care right now.

"Well, no," Chaeyoung replies. She pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her knuckles, staring at the tile floor. "I thought I had it all planned out."

"Let me guess. A nice, tall guy, probably a businessman. Or a journalist, depending on how adventurous you were feeling that day. Someone who's got his shit figured out," Jennie shakes her head, voice sadder than she wants it to be. "With a nice house and a nice face and a nice future. I get it."

Chaeyoung doesn't respond. Jennie feels like shit, the only ugly smudge on Chaeyoung's sheet-of-paper life. Unwanted.

"This is stupid," Jennie stands and her chair clatters back. Chaeyoung's head snaps up, desperate as the well-kept, flowerless plants that fill her flat. "I don't believe in soulmates."

"Wait," Chaeyoung begs.

But she doesn't mean it enough to follow Jennie into the streets, doesn't mean it enough to drive her home, doesn't mean it enough to pluck the just-lit cigarette from her lips and wait for her until it's okay. Jennie isn't sure if she wants that anyway. She whirls through the city in the dark, resolving to inhale, inhale until she forgets.

Everything is grey.

Jongin has a face Jennie would love to see in full color. He was born with rainbows in his eyes and a gaping emptiness in his chest but he likes to say he isn't lonely, he doesn't need anyone. He has a tendency to give and give and Jennie briefly wonders if it's because nothing makes him feel good.

"You're gonna send the world to heaven but forget yourself here on Earth," Jennie muses when Jongin catches her hands before they reach too low. He's laughing and he's flushed and he surely wants _something_. He just won't take. Jennie traces the bridge of his nose, fascinated, and wishes she could describe his face the way she's asked him to so many times. The warmth of it. He tilts his head, brushes his lips against her wrist before pushing her away. Gently. Jennie hates the universe for a moment because what could they be, if Jongin wasn't such a gem of a tragedy? How could anything as vast and all-knowing leave a creature like Jongin loveless when he deserves a fire to end the world?

Jennie sits at the window and smokes, tipping the ashes into Jongin's flower beds. They all appear the same to her but the way Jongin looks at them must mean something. She reflects on how many people have been here, remembers Jimin, soft-hearted as he is, nearly in tears because _god Jennie he just won't let himself be taken care of_ , and smiles mournfully.

"You know what I wish?" Jennie half turns towards Jongin, stretched across his bed, glorious sheen of sweat and sunlight. He opens his eyes, hums. "I wish any of this was fair."

He props himself up on his elbows, neck long and gaze light. He grins like nothing can hurt him and maybe it can't but Jennie wants him to be _loved_. "Isn't it?"

"Fuck you," Jennie takes a drag, tilts her head back in the way she knows makes her look irresistible. Jongin's eyes are steady. "Look at you."

His tone is forlorn. "Nothing to see. Nothing to stay for."

"You won't _let_ us," she hisses. Oh, she wants to _see_ the sun's lazy rays gather on his collarbones. It would be too much. "I want you to be greedy. No one in this world is more empty than you. No one could be filled more."

"You come close. What if your soulmate wants love?" he prods, turning to his side. Jennie drinks in the dips of his torso. Thinks there has to be more than this.

"They'll have to suck it the fuck up," smoke is thick on her tongue. She blinks quickly. "Love, they won't get from me. Not the kind anyone wants."

They don't talk much anymore.

Seungwan's couch is a gentle shade, trapped between sea foam and storm clouds.

Jennie sleeps on it for a week, maybe more. Seungwan works hard, or as hard as she can in a job like _that_ , and brings anyone with a half-decent smile home. Took her soulmate to bed once. Jennie cranked her music way up but they screamed at each other so much the next morning she has an idea of how things are between them. Seungwan slapped him then licked the blood left by her rings off of his cheek then pushed him out but Jennie swears she saw him crying in the parking lot. Heard _unnie_ moaned so loud and so often that night she had to go out.

Jennie burns through four and a half packs of cigarettes and all the money in her wallet. Seungwan sits with her sometimes, melting into the navy blue pillows with a perfectly-rolled blunt dangling between her lips more often than not. She doesn't ask but she always leaves toast for Jennie on the coffee table, even though it's usually cold by the time Jennie wakes up. She's irresistible, maybe, and Jennie might just follow her into her bedroom if Chaeyoung's guilty face didn't linger every time she closes her eyes.

It would be easy, to fall back into Seungwan's hot hands and bony shoulders and dancing voice with the lights out and the windows thrown open. It's easy to fall.

But it's hard to get up, drag herself out of Seungwan's building and go anywhere but the cornerstore where she'll pretend to work for a while. Jiyong glares at her over the counter as she lazily mops the same ugly tan tiles for so long they almost look acceptably clean but he slips a pack of cigarettes, not _her_ brand and certainly not _his_ poison but they'll do, into her back pocket as she clocks out.

"You stupid fucking bitch," he murmurs. "Take care of yourself."

"Fuck off, old man," she retorts, but she's grinning. He touches the small of her back, too tender to be platonic, too brief to be anything else. His hair is the color of tangerine peels, silked over by drugstore shampoo; his lips are slick and dark, and he has to wipe their pomegranate-colored trace off of his vape pen with every puff he takes. He always smells a shade of sticky-sweet and Jennie figures he tastes like heaven, might test him herself if he didn't have someone to go home to.

She thinks of Chaeyoung and she thinks of Jiyong with his mystery soulmate. How easy it is for him to blink and take care of her anyway, and she wishes she could be with someone who _understands_ , someone less perfect and fenced-in and fucking rigid as Chaeyoung.

She thinks too hard and it's a mistake, she should've been more careful. She should have been paying attention, should've noticed the headlights trailing after her.

"Shit," Jennie mumbles, fumbling for her keys in her jacket pocket but they're back at Seungwan's place because they're both idiots and the passcode hasn't been changed for four years. She reaches for her pocket knife but _of course_ that's still in the sweatpants on her floor back at home, all she has now is Jiyong's smokes and a lighter. It's something but Jennie's so shaky the cigarette's been snapped before she can even touch it to her lips. She hunches her shoulders, wonders if it's worth it to turn and run back to Jiyong and the gun she knows he keeps in the back. She hates guns and she hates how society can render her _this_ helpless but she'd also hate to die tonight.

The car pulls ahead of her and stops abruptly. Jennie squints.

And laughs.

Chaeyoung is climbing out of the car, looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here, tottering on the uneven asphalt in her bare feet. Her silky top dips around her collarbones, tapering into slacks, and she's attractive, Jennie supposes, be it in a rather skeletal way.

"What're you doing in a neighborhood like this, Cinderella?" Jennie raises an eyebrow, though it's too dark for Chaeyoung to notice. Her tone is frigid because she's _pissed_.

Chaeyoung's arms wrap around herself. "I can't drive in heels," she says, and Jennie can't tell if she's joking. "I was... looking for you."

Jennie snorts. "You fucking scared me. You can't do that shit, follow me like that."

"I... sorry," Chaeyoung's head tips forward as if she's forgotten her hair is up. She pulls it over her shoulder, toys with the tip of her braid instead. "I wanted to make sure it was you. I, uh, Jennie."

Jennie locks away whatever anger she can scrape off her tongue. Save it for later. "What do you want?"

Chaeyoung is tense in a way that portrays so plainly she has no idea. "Well. You _are_ my soulmate."

The car is still on, and she's leaning against the door awkwardly. Jennie doesn't move any closer, either. Her gaze glazes over, impatient, bored. Chaeyoung rocks back and forth on her feet.

"Um. You could give me your number?" Chaeyoung reaches into the car. Jennie idly studies her hollow frame. She reemerges with a sleek phone, holding it out. There's already a profile set up for her, _Jennie Kim_ with no photo, and Jennie doesn't even remember mentioning her surname. "Please, Jennie."

Pity curls the edges of her mouth down and she almost considers taking the phone, tapping out her number. It would be easy, painless. But things just don't come _painless_ for Jennie. "Chaeyoung. You already know how I feel about this."

And Chaeyoung wilts away. She may be the one with the money and the cute stick shift and enough clothes to last a month at an office, but Jennie knows nothing has prepared her for this. How to sweep up a mess that's already been thrown across her life, like it or not. "The universe _wants_ us to be together."

"Go home, Chaeyoung," Jennie pulls her hood over her head, so she doesn't have to look at the shivering, small girl a moment longer than she has to. "The universe hasn't met Jennie Kim."

Everything is grey.

Jennie feels like a dull knife glipping through sand; she can feel the cold wind slice between her teeth. The sounds of the busy street seem distant, even though she can see them unfolding all around her. The cars flick past her, one after one after one, flashing in the winter sun. One whips by too close to the sidewalk, and the skin at the back of Jennie's neck prickles. People call and laugh, car doors slam, a crowd of young girls spill out of the tattoo parlor, a man drops _something_ and it flies down the streets as traffic carries on. He watches it, feet half-hanging off of the curb, before turning, slumping away.

Jennie pulls the knit scarf up to her nose, hoping the sky will save its rain for when she's back home, blankets thrown over her shoulders with a book and a hot cup of coffee. She inhales deeply--vanilla, smoke, almond liquor--and her eyelids fall closed a second too long.

Someone knocks into her, and she knows what will happen before the straps of her bag even slip from her frozen fingers.

"Sorry," the back of a man mutters but it's too little, too late, and Jennie kneels to pick her laundry off of the dirty street.

 _Fuck you_ , she doesn't shout over her shoulder, but she hisses it under her breath, the words trapped by the thick material of her scarf. The sweet orange-blossom soap from the laundromat seems farther away now. Her few clothes are balled back into her bag but they're _dirty_ again and Jennie feels out of energy, out of control.

She presses the bag to her stomach, curving over it, and cries. Her forehead brushes the ground, hair already ratty, spread over it. It's just starting to rain, clouds breaking in relief and betrayal, and Jennie wants someone to _hold_ her. But no one stops, nothing slows, the world spins on and retches all around her.

The contents of the box in Jennie's arms are a disaster of mismatched hues.

She had left the lukewarm toast and tea on Seungwan's kitchen table and ran home with a cardboard box she had found in the back of the store, resolving to throw away everything with a trace of color on it.

Jennie doesn't have much. Never had much. Tosses most of her cups and plates into the box, doesn't hesitate when she hears ceramic crashing together. Strips her bed and dumps an armful of tee shirts, green sweaters, a flannel with the elbows worn thin, in. Tears the covers off of a few old paperback novels and almost breaks down, debates dragging her patterned pastel armchair onto the street corner but eventually decides against it. Leaves the sealed boxes pushed up against one wall alone. Thinks _this is enough for now_. Peels off her sweatshirt with the scarlet lettering for good measure.

She props the box against her hip and drags her feet, black boots scraping the cement and dead grass. Everything hurts her eyes. Graffiti slashed across the construction barriers, the busy outfits of the people who don't know any better, the sky pulsing a violent shade of cerulean. Jennie wishes she had brought her sunglasses, wonders if that would dull the world enough to provide any sort of comfort, anyway. Perhaps not.

Her pace quickens when she sees the bridge, and she stops in the middle, dropping to a crouch. She gazes down at the swaying water, looking so much more gentle today. Jennie takes a book cover from the top of the pile, lets it slip from her fingers.

It tumbles, waltzes, hooks and unhooks itself on tendrils of wind. It settles upon the dark surface like a flower petal before sinking slowly. Jennie stands, uneasy.

She hauls the box to a gap between the bridge's bars. It wobbles on the ledge. Jennie sighs.

She lets go. Doesn't wait for it to hit the water before she's walking away.

In her black shoes and black pants and black shirt, Jennie feels empty. Small and so forgettable. Lilac is easy to look at, emerald is pleasant and heavy on her tongue. The coy brilliance of gold makes Jennie more nostalgic than she'd like to admit. Maybe the orange of Jiyong's hair could feel like home.

But Jennie wants to look the same for everyone.

She thinks about easing the itch of her fingertips, just reaching for the cigarettes that seem to burn in her pocket, refusing to leave her consciousness. But the air is crisp and cool, so she breathes that instead. Inhales. Lets her footsteps slow. Lets her mind wander. Exhales.

Everything is grey.

Sixteen-year-old Jennie is furious at most things: school, for being so damn impossible, the world and the universe for operating in such stupid, redundant ways, Hyojin for deciding to stop selling Jennie cigarettes and getting carted off to jail anyway. But mostly her father. For everything. For being a lazy asshole but expecting her to turn out well, if not just _okay_. For ignoring her until the house gets too disgusting to stand, for being a selfish block of ice who's ruined three lives, at least. For storming out and away every time Jennie wants _anything_ , for leaving her to flounder in a life that was already rough enough without having no parent to speak of.

She doesn't even wait for the door to snap closed before she's yanking the fridge open, cracking into a beer because he just _doesn't care_ and it's not like he needs it, either. She heads up the stairs, kicking the stacks of paper and plastic bags of trash lined up against the wall as she goes.

Liquid sloshes over the sides of the can as Jennie slams into her mother's old office and throws herself onto the desk chair. She licks her hand, tries not to cry because she's way too old to care about this shit.

She wheels back and forth on the chair, staring at the wall until her can is nearly empty and the burn behind her eyes feels a little farther away.

This room is the cleanest in the house, partly because Jennie likes to spite her father, partly because she _did_ love her mother, likes to think of it as a shrine. A quiet glimmer of rage squirms in her stomach when she notices the out-of-place shoebox on the desk, probably full of more shit neither of them want but won't throw away, either. She scowls, grabbing it and the can and stalking to her father's room.

She jerks the sheets back and pours the rest of the beer on the mattress, splashing colorless and sour. She begins to dump the contents of the box over the stains, but stops when she realizes what they are. A muffled gasp escapes the press of her fingertips.

She might call it a scrapbook if it was anything more than a collection of faded photos and letters, not even tied into order.

The cramped handwriting is familiar and new all at once; Jennie smiles, bittersweet. She hasn't seen a picture of her mother in what feels like years, much less her mother in a state like this, beaming as if she has someone to smile back at her. And she _does_ , in the shadowy lighting of these swept-away photos, an unfamiliar boy with a grin that sparkles even in Jennie's black-and-white eyes. Sometimes he's alone in the frame, never looking straight into the camera. Sometimes he's holding it to take shaky shots of her mother, tangled in floral sheets, spinning across vacant streets in dresses that flit above her knees, biting her lip and gazing softly at something behind the camera. Jennie's chest hurts, she looks so _young_ , and Jennie can see flashes of herself in the slope of those dancing eyes, the tilt of her secretive lips.

Her brow furrows at a photo of the two curled together, a tender kiss being pressed to one closed eye. The caption reads, stark and honest, _my love_.

The letters are all responses in what must be the man's lopsided penmanship, words coming halting and tentative but no less adoring. Jennie imagines her mother's letters in another shoebox, another house, another life, and almost doesn't notice she's crying, scrubbing the tears away in shame, feeling so guilty even though she _can't_ stop now.

A few letters later and she can't take this anymore. He's rambling on and it's so beautiful it's desperate, or maybe the other way around, Jennie doesn't know, but he's telling her mother that the universe never could have _imagined_ his live for her so now that she sees colors that aren't for him, this new lover surely will love her a star for each of his flower petals. _Go_ , he's telling her, _go love and be loved because it was never meant to be us, I want you to be loved until you melt back into gold_. And he'll love her even if the colors kill her and the stars die out. He and his everything will be waiting. So go. Jennie isn't sure if her mother ever answered but it's the last letter he wrote, dated just a year before she was born. She lets it tumble back into the box.

And it's not fair.

Jennie is furious.

More so than she was an hour ago, more than she's ever been. Because maybe she loves her mother and maybe her father never did, but this man, the one behind the hesitant words and neglected photographs, and, fuck, maybe even every smile her mother has truly meant, did. So much, so deep and so rich and so _right_ Jennie can't even imagine. But he isn't here now, no, it's her father, a jagged puzzle piece to her mother's lock where this man was the key and the latch. And it's not fair.

Jennie sits there, screams and sobs for a while. Then she stands, sniffs, and shoves the letter into her pocket.

She stills at the door, fingers curled around the handle. She goes back, grabs the one photo with the two of them, together. Then she runs.

Jiyong's hair is sky-blue and waves gently away from his face.

"Blue," Jennie muses, smirking as she drops her bag behind the counter Jiyong is leaning against. She hops up, legs swinging, and he frowns. "Can I touch?"

"Don't see why you'd want to," he drawls, but her fingers are already woven through the unusually dry strands, tilting his head towards her. He studies her face, and, even if she wanted to, there's nowhere to hide, Jiyong's gaze oddly insistent. "You didn't tell me you met your soulmate."

"Ah," Jennie pulls her hands away, clasping them in her lap. His frown deepens. "I didn't. Tell anybody, I mean."

A customer approaches the register with a bag of chips and a carton of milk. Jennie admires the way Jiyong's expression shifts from sympathetic to friendly in half a moment. Like flicking a switch. He'll usually push her off the counter with a laugh and a scolding, but he lets her be today, and she knows he's just good at pretending.

The door falls back into place, and Jiyong turns to look at her again. She exhales, tips her chin up.

Jiyong sighs right back. "Don't be like that. Ninety-nine out of a hundred pairings are happy."

Jennie snorts and doesn't even feel ashamed. "Right. And everyone I know falls neatly into that one percent." Jiyong's eyebrows hitch, offended. She waves him away. "And _you_ can't say a damn thing to change my mind. When's the last time you said a word to me about your soulmate?"

Jiyong rolls his eyes, huffing in a way that Jennie isn't sure is directed at her, or himself, or the whole miserable situation. "We're not unhappy, just... different."

Head falling to the side, Jennie narrows her eyes. Something similar to a fond smile finally traces Jiyong's glossy lips, but it's tired, bittersweet.

"He doesn't know what the hell he wants," he tells her, and she feels her chest twinge a little. Jiyong, if anything, knows exactly what he's working for at the end of the day. It's what makes her look up to him, even if she'll never admit that. She clears her throat.

"What do _you_ want?" she asks, voice fainter than she would have liked.

His forehead pinches, and he glances away. "I want," he pauses, tongue between his teeth. "I want him to figure it out. I want him to come home to me."

Jennie turns the words over in her mind. Hates them more the longer she thinks about it.

"Well," Jiyong exclaims, cheerful and plastic. He slams his palms against the counter and Jennie jumps. "That was lovely. Now that we've bonded over my messy relationship and your resistance to being content, I need a smoke. Cover for me."

She slumps against the counter, staring at the floor as he bustles around in the back for his jacket. "And, Jennie?" he calls softly. She angles towards him but doesn't look up. "Coming from the side that's always waiting, please. If there _is_ a chance to be happy, don't be the asshole who takes that away from everyone."

She hums but, for the first time, Jennie tries to forget Jiyong's advice as he slips out the back. _Tries_ , but his voice, more shaky and vulnerable than she's ever heard it, won't leave her alone.

When a familiar face greets her as she's slinking out of the store a few days later, Jennie can't manage anything more than a weary scowl. Chaeyoung jumps to her feet, large bouquet clutched in her well-manicured hands, tipped in powder blue polish today. Jennie freezes as Chaeyoung approaches.

"They're roses," she points out unnecessarily. Jennie breathes slowly. They look fresh, a dreamy peach-pink. She thinks of Jongin and her heart beats funnily, realizing how she'll never know how his garden nor his fragile, dewy smile look in full color, sun-kissed and flushed. "For you."

Jennie hesitates before taking them, seeing the relief melt over Chaeyoung's face as she does. She begins walking away, and Chaeyoung follows, half a step behind. They're both wearing black, and she briefly wonders if they're so different after all, even though she feels infinitely smaller and dirtier with Chaeyoung towering over her in spotless round-toed heels.

"How have you been?" Chaeyoung tries. "My family and friends have been talking. My coworkers, especially."

Jennie scoffs. "What could _they_ have to say?"

"Oh," Chaeyoung plays with her fingers. "Plenty. They have some theories about you."

When Jennie glances at her, eyes narrowed, Chaeyoung is already surveying her, petal pink lip caught neatly between her teeth. She feels her cheeks darken. "Tell me more?"

"One of the interns, or maybe the new manager. Those were pretty tame," Chaeyoung laughs lowly. "But have you ever considered a career as a mob boss? Or a jewel thief?"

Jennie is surprised at the grin that splits her face. "Can't say I have."

"I can see you with a house full of diamonds," Chaeyoung's steps lag a little when Jennie doesn't respond. "My family, though, they're worried. It's never been... like this. For them."

Stopping altogether, Jennie swallows. Chaeyoung almost bumps into her, but she pays no mind. It had been so _easy_ for a minute, she had almost forgotten. What Chaeyoung wants. What Jennie can't give. Chaeyoung reaches for her hand, but she snatches it to her chest.

"The universe--"

Jennie whirls around, and Chaeyoung is _too close_. "What the fuck is it with you and the universe?"

Chaeyoung inches away, looking guilty. "It just doesn't put people together on accident, Jennie. I think..."

"No," Jennie mumbles, shaking her head sharply. Because maybe the _universe_ meant it when it matched Chaeyoung's parents, her sister, her friends and coworkers. But she hasn't seen love the way Jennie has, parents shoved together in a way that stole happiness from her mother and cemented its absence from her father. She hasn't seen Jongin, unfairly fucking gorgeous and unfairly fucking _alone_ , Jiyong with a bed that never had to stay empty. Seungwan and the many lovers she captures in full color while her soulmate bleeds in the background. No. This is what love boils down to once it's had its fun with the people on top, and Jennie knows Chaeyoung only thinks she could love her because that's what the world has taught her she should feel. Jennie doesn't want her empty love, and if Chaeyoung wasn't so blind, she wouldn't want Jennie's, either.

" _Your_ universe," Jennie whispers. "Stay out of mine. You don't _want_ me."

She hurries home and sighs once she knows Chaeyoung hasn't followed. She doesn't put the flowers in a vase, doesn't throw them away either. Lays them on her bed and tries not to look.

Everything is grey.

Joohyun kisses her and steals the cigarette smoke right from her mouth. It's messy, Joohyun's lipstick smearing everywhere. Jennie isn't sure what color it is but whatever it is it _stains_. But it's so good, she's so so good for Joohyun, who tastes like merlot, dry and tart, and the strangely saccharine, waxy remains of her lipstick. She's expensive, from her deceptively demure perfume to the platinum and stones dripping from her thin wrists, her elegant neck and slender fingers. So expensive Jennie isn't sure she should be allowed to touch, but so filthy Jennie feels right at home. She grasps Jennie's shoulders and presses closer, so close Jennie can't breathe but she loves it.

Jennie is good at not asking questions no one wants to answer, but sometimes Joohyun just looks ethereal in a way that can't be described. She's draped in her sheer white robe, undone over her creamy skin, and Jennie wants to kiss the mole that mars her ribcage. Joohyun pours another glass of wine, lips already lusher, tinted.

"What is it?" she asks, and Jennie looks away, embarrassed.

"I was thinking..."

Joohyun's suite is always cold, but heat crawls over Jennie's skin as Joohyun sets her glass down and perches next to her, trailing a fingertip over her shoulder. "What is it, baby?" Jennie shivers at the thoughtless name, knowing Joohyun is probably the first and last to call her that.

Joohyun dips down, breath gentle against Jennie's neck.

"Your soulmate," she manages. Joohyun doesn't pull back, but she stills, fingers tapping contemplatively against Jennie's collarbone.

"What about them?" her face is carefully blank.

Jennie exhales. "Anything."

She laughs, it's hypnotic and sad and terrifying. "I don't have anything to say about them. I haven't met them. I hope I never do."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, Jennie," Joohyun pushes away, walking to part the thin curtains. The city sprawls onward, glittering and docile, below them. "Beautiful, broken Jennie. I know you don't believe in soulmates. I just don't believe in love. Makes it easier."

Jennie is bitterly reminded of herself, of what they are. Joohyun continues.

"You and me, we're unlovable." She turns to face Jennie, and her eyes are flat. "There reaches a point. You just can't be saved."

Peeling away the sheet to wrap around herself, Jennie joins Joohyun, staring up at the sky. She cracks the window open and lights a cigarette, feeling Joohyun's eyes on her the whole time. She takes two long drags and hands it off.

"It's not that I think you don't deserve it," Joohyun inhales, dark lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. Her lips curl up, and her eyes are clear and wistful when they open. They slice right through Jennie's skin, she feels bare. She shudders. "Because I _do_. I just don't think you'll ever let anyone in. Enough for them to love you, and certainly not enough to love back. You're unlovable, and you make sure of that."

Jennie nods, and she must kiss Joohyun with a little too much reverence at the door, one of Joohyun's pretty rings snuck into her back pocket and blotches of lipstick on her collar, because Joohyun never calls again.

Jade is barely tracing the near-barren trees, hopeful and oblivious of the rough winds.

Chaeyoung's hair is twisted into a neat bun, black roots growing out, and Jennie hesitates, her own hair windswept and tangled. Chaeyoung hasn't seen her, she could run, she doesn't have to do this, she doesn't owe Chaeyoung anything. But Chaeyoung had _begged_ , called the number she had cried out of Jiyong until Jennie picked up.

It's too late, anyway. Jennie is here. Close enough she could take two steps and be able to smell Chaeyoung's subtle floral perfume. Close enough she could take three steps and touch her, hold her, push her away again. She sighs, doesn't try to smile as she walks up, two and a half shuffling steps, and sits next to Chaeyoung. The space between them is prickly and tense, noticeable. Chaeyoung beams, her eyes far too similar to sunshine and spring and all the gentle things. Jennie swallows.

"You're here," she breathes. She is soft in a green-grey sweater with the sleeves unraveling. "Thank you, Jennie."

Jennie nods, glares at the pretty cloud shavings crawling above them. "Why are we here, Chaeyoung?"

Chaeyoung looks surprised, sheepish maybe, but she always seems to be when Jennie is around. Her arms wind around herself, ankles crossed like the world will sink beneath her if she is anything less than prim. "I want to spend time with you, I know you don't but I thought maybe--"

"You think you can make me trust you," Jennie cuts in, and feels faintly angry, that same flicker of betrayal always throbbing deep inside of her whenever Chaeyoung speaks sentimental and foolishly trusting. "Fall in love with you, maybe."

"It's what people _do_ , Jennie." This is the first time Jennie has heard her voice so sharply unpleasant. "They love. They love _back_ , they give _back_."

She's so wrong Jennie wants to laugh, but she seethes instead. Chaeyoung's fingers dig harder into the knit crevices of her sweater, lips pressed together. "As if..." Jennie breathes in slowly, eyes closing like Chaeyoung will have disappeared by the time they open again. "No matter what you think, you'd never be able to care for me. I have no intention of letting you in close enough to figure out that you can't love me."

She gasps a little, a pointed intake of air Jennie barely catches. Chaeyoung almost reaches out, but her hands fall into her lap before she can. Her words crescendo, and Jennie shifts farther away. "Never _care_ for you? Jennie, I haven't gotten you out of my mind since the moment I saw you!"

"Please," Jennie scoffs, fists clenching in her pockets because this hurts her, too. "We both know you only saved me because I gave you colors."

Chaeyoung makes a pitiful little sound in the back of her throat, but Jennie thinks she catches it, that little _what if_ in Chaeyoung's eyes. A world where she never stopped her glossy doll car on the side of the heavy bridge that cold day, where Jennie crumpled against black-white-grey waters without ever seeing blue, where Chaeyoung could watch spring explode in full color without having to worry about stupid, loveless Jennie. A world where no one had to worry about broken, messy Jennie, not nearly as beautiful as Joohyun said but just as unlovable, maybe more.

"How... how could you say that?" Chaeyoung is shaking and Jennie can practically feel her guilt, revel in it, though it would taste sweeter if that small part of her wasn't waiting for Chaeyoung to deny it.

She tips her head back and ignores Chaeyoung's wet, glistening gaze. "It's true, no?"

Whatever she's expecting, it isn't Chaeyoung lurching forward, falling in front of her on the cold, dirty sidewalk in her undoubtedly expensive trousers, one careful hand gripping her knee, the other smooth on her cheek. "God no, Jennie, _no_ ," she whispers, voice cracking.

And suddenly she's _kissing_ Jennie, too gentle and too soon and too apologetic, even her lips are the purest and most sorry thing Jennie's ever touched and _she. Doesn't. Want it._ Chaeyoung doesn't mean it, _can't_ mean it, and it's all a lie that Jennie can't swallow down, not even for this. Chaeyoung's skin burns where it meets hers, and Jennie wants to gag because she isn't Chaeyoung's, she's making a mistake, and what Chaeyoung needs most, the love and life she deserves, Jennie can never, ever give her.

"Stop," she pleads, shoving at Chaeyoung's shoulders. Chaeyoung overbalances, falling back onto her hands, eyes big and lost and pleading but Jennie can't find it in herself to care as she scrambles to her feet, confused and hurt and _burning_.

"Jennie," Chaeyoung doesn't move except for her quivering lips, shallow breaths.

"You can't kiss me," Jennie demands, pressing her hand over her mouth. The taste that lingers is like every lover she's ever had plus a sweetness she can't stand. "You can't."

"But--"

"I don't want it. You don't want it. Fuck, will you ever get it? It's not for us to have, this isn't _ours_."

For the first time, Chaeyoung is the one who rises on wobbly legs and runs. Glides, maybe, graceful, dejected. Head dipped low and shoulders slumped in shame and sorrow, if Jennie dared to look any closer. She doesn't.

Everything is grey.

Jennie startles when the beam shakes under her as another person's weight is carelessly thrown onto it. Jiyong sits too close, thigh brushing hers, and he pointedly refrains from looking down or acknowledging her empty glare. Even her voice strains hollow but she's glad he's here, maybe.

"Jiyong--"

"You always think no one will find you here," he interrupts, pulling out his vape pen as if he doesn't want Jennie's clouds of smoke to be lonely. Saving her from a thought she doesn't know how to complete. "Always."

Jennie frowns, draws idle circles on the rough metal with her free hand. "They don't, usually. Not unless they're you."

His eyes are light, dancing when he finally glances her way, lips curved up angelically. "And you're still here, aren't you?"

He's too alright. It's cold, and windy, and miserable. But a soft grin still settles across his face as she leans back against the sharp railings of the bridge. He's too content, living a life no one in their right mind would ask for. He's beautiful, Jennie doesn't need colors to see that, and he's right. She's still here.

"Jiyong." He hums. She lets her cigarette fall from between her lips, bouncing lightly against the ledge before rolling off. She waits for it to be swallowed by the sweetly swaying water before speaking, eyes still cast down. "What colors am I?"

He laughs a little, exhaling one last starkly white lungful. This is familiar, this is welcome. He wipes his hands against his jeans and turns towards her. She can feel his warmth, see his painfully genuine smile without even looking. "You're... you're blue, today. You're here, I can feel you, but where are you really? You're drowning. You're gold, you don't know how precious you are."

Jennie observes her feet, pointed towards the obedient river, blindly flowing. On and on. She can feel Jiyong studying her; she swallows past the weight in her throat. "Go on."

"You're purple." He pauses. Her fists clench. "Dark and cloudy. You're a bruise, touch you too long and you ache."

They sit for a while, stare: Jiyong at Jennie, Jennie at the dirty toes of her converse. She's slammed by dizziness. Jiyong reaches over, sleeve pulled over his hand, and swipes her tears away, so tenderly it hurts, the way he knows it always does.

She raises her head and blinks up at the sky. "Take me home," she whispers. Her voice is weak but she doesn't mind. Jiyong's fingertips slide over the back of her neck.

"Of course."

The horizon is on fire, gold and flames caressing the dark, churning surface of the river.

Jennie is stretched unsteadily across the widest point of the bridge's framework, phone buzzing in her pocket. She counts the vibrations, one, two, eleven before they cut out. She exhales, arm draping over her eyes. It rings again. Stills. And again.

"What is it, Chaeyoung?" she snaps when she finally picks up. It's late enough that most of the commute-cars are tucked neatly in their nice garages, only a handful of stragglers speeding below in the rich sunset light. Chaeyoung should be one of them, safe at home, leaving her heels and leftover work in the foyer to deal with in the morning, lounging pretty on her pearl couch, enjoying the colors splayed across her TV screen in the form of a drama starring whatever handsome male actor she's been binging lately, without thinking about Jennie. Without _ever_ thinking of Jennie. Leaving Jennie alone, the way she's always wanted, to try not to think about Chaeyoung, either.

"Oh, Jennie," Chaeyoung says, as if she'll forget the name if she doesn't repeat it like a prayer. Jennie's fingers curl harder into the grooves of the metal underneath her. "God, I'm so sorry."

Jennie huffs, because it sounds so honest but falls so short of what Jennie wants to hear. "Tell me more," she drawls. Wind sweeps a wisp of hair into her eyes so she closes them. Focuses on the cool air on her exposed skin.

"I.. really?" Chaeyoung is quiet for a minute, but Jennie can hear her breathing, easy, slow. Her voice still trembles slightly, and there's a vulnerability in it that Jennie hasn't heard from her before. As if she's remembering she isn't a child anymore, and her words have consequences. "I don't know. I've been awful. Selfish, trying to make this into something you don't want. So selfish. I'm sorry."

Tension bleeds from Jennie's body, she's disappointed and slumps, boneless and defeated, against the unmoving presence of the bridge. Everything Chaeyoung has said she's already figured herself. "I didn't ask for any of this," Jennie whispers. The wind is picking up, and Jennie wonders if Chaeyoung can even hear her. "I just want to sleep. Wanted. Then as much as now."

"Jennie," Chaeyoung sounds suddenly wary. "Where are you?"

She stiffens again.

" _Jennie_ \--"

The call ends. Jennie is angry and she doesn't know why but she can feel it, in the quiver of her hands and blur of her vision. She sits up slowly and draws her knees to her chest. She can't stop hearing Chaeyoung's voice, her name twisting around Chaeyoung's tongue, scared and plaintive and desperate.

She takes a picture and sends it before she can think twice. The sun carves its harsh trail into the velvety indigo sky as it sinks: smudges of butterscotch and amber and magenta. She's never stopped to watch the shift from day to night, not like this, and it's overwhelming, the vibrancy she can taste. Everything is so saturated, dripping in life, collecting on the tips of her fingers when she stretches her arms out. Bronze bleeds across the glinting ripples of the river, bordered by the glittering city on both sides. The sun slips lower and lower quicker and quicker, but the darkness never comes. Light is simply swapped for lights, the neons of the traffic and storefronts, the dull glow of the bulbs that illuminate the highway, the faint silver sheen of the stars.

She's not surprised, not really, at the headlights that slow to a stop beneath her. She watches, waits, feels empty and helpless as Chaeyoung makes her way over to the side of the road. She's barefoot and she doesn't know where to put her hands and Jennie wishes she wouldn't. Wouldn't chase after her, wouldn't apologize, wouldn't be so insistent upon making this harder than it already is. Jennie wishes she could forget Chaeyoung, empty her mind of that sweet voice and those soft hands. It should be easy, like scraping the insides of a melon clean.

Chaeyoung is close, but so far away. She had pulled herself up on the wrong bars and beams and she's not near enough to touch. It's fitting, Jennie thinks, symbolic of them. Ironic in that miserable way. She chuckles dryly, shakes her head. Chaeyoung smiles back, broken. Unsure.

"Jennie..."

Leaning back on her hands, Jennie tips her head back. "I'm tired."

"God, this is all my fault," Chaeyoung looks up at her, eyes wide and shiny. She's so pale under the suffocating weight of night, moonlight kissing her cheeks the very way Jennie should be wanting to, _would_ be wanting to if it was all as easy as it sounds. "Please come down. Come home. Just for a night. Please, I can't stand it."

Jennie laughs, louder this time, coarse and cruel and forced. "Always about you, isn't it?" she throws out, weak. Chaeyoung's head dips quickly, hair swinging to mask her face. "Of course it's your fault."

Chaeyoung grips the railings but sways a little. Jennie is falling apart but she swallows, looks away. Pretends none of this affects her.

"I had it all figured out," Jennie knows her voice is ugly and choked. She clears her throat. "Love. _Soulmates_. It was easy. Can you imagine how it feels? Suddenly you appear and you want a fairytale. You won't give up. And I have someone to disappoint."

Chaeyoung's head snaps up, something hopeful and longing in her glistening eyes.

 _Fucking excruciating_ , Jennie doesn't answer her own question, isn't sure if either of them want to hear the answer in all its crushing reality. When they're back on solid ground, she doesn't take Chaeyoung's hand when it's offered. Doesn't run, either. She follows Chaeyoung into her car, off of the bridge, away.

The nearest streetlamp barely casts its weak light over them from where Chaeyoung has parked, but Jennie can still see the rose-red of Chaeyoung's eyes, blooming around the edges.

They're only a block away from Chaeyoung's apartment but Chaeyoung pretends she's giving Jennie a choice. "You could come in," she suggests, staring at the steering wheel. She's tugging at a strand of her hair, twisting it around and around her finger. "Sleep here. Stay over. As long as you want."

Jennie doesn't even try to laugh.

Chaeyoung inhales, frustrated. "I worry about you."

"Take me to the store, then," Jennie sags against the door, stealing peeks at Chaeyoung's shadowy profile. "Jiyong's. I'll walk home from there."

"No," Chaeyoung protests. She sounds like a child, Jennie thinks, thoughtless and insistent, another emotion Jennie can't name lacing her voice. Defiance, concern maybe. Jealousy. "I can't. Jennie, please."

"I won't go in."

Chaeyoung makes a noise low in her throat, but starts the car. It's late, her hands are twitching around the steering wheel, and Jennie isn't sure if she should be driving. She's crying noiselessly again, hopeless romantic, sentimental fool. She should have given up by now. Her tears catch the light of every red light they're stopped at. Jennie just wants her to let it go. Why does she need this so much? Jennie's drawn the lines, made it clear. She is not to be loved. So why?

The drive is spent in silence. Jennie doesn't move, doesn't speak in fear of shattering something she isn't sure exists. They coast to a stop in front of the store. They're taking up two spots but Jennie holds her tongue. Chaeyoung will be gone soon enough. The light streaming from the windows is bright, crisp and familiar. She can see two customers in the noodle section and Jiyong crouched an aisle over, red and yellow bottles gripped in his hands. Jisoo, another worker, is half-asleep at the register.

Jennie sits there for a moment, one hand grasping the door handle, the other bracing her against the seat. Chaeyoung's gaze quickly slides forward when Jennie turns towards her.

"Chaeyoung," she tests out. Chaeyoung's hold on the gear stick flutters nervously. "Chaeyoung. You believe in everything. You believe in us."

It's not a question. Chaeyoung, lips bitten dark, glances over and nods hesitantly. Jennie holds her stare evenly, tries to find a flash of _anything_ in her warm brown eyes. But that's all there is, _warmth_ , blunt and yearning and knowing only what she herself wants.

"You read like poetry," Jennie finally says, shoulders rounding towards the door again. She pretends she doesn't see the twitch of Chaeyoung's lips. "Always hated that shit. Pretty. Impossible to understand."

Jennie nearly trips out of the car in her haste, refusing to look until she's positive Chaeyoung is gone.

Everything is grey.

Twenty-four-year-old Seungwan likes to read poetry to an unwilling Jennie whenever she comes over, dragging her to the bed they haven't shared since they were sixteen and eighteen and Jennie had nowhere left to go, and pulling her down to rest her head in Seungwan's lap. She reads everything, in her crystal-clear, unwavering voice: flowery sonnets, long winded prose poetry, pieces that feel like nothing more than hearts and souls and lungs shattered into the borders of a page.

Jennie lets her. She has nowhere to be and doesn't mind as much as she says she does. Sometimes it's nice to know, even if she can't process all the words before Seungwan's moving on, flipping through the pages. _Someone else is hurting, too_. Seungwan's eyelashes flutter as she skims through every line. Jennie watches their movement, fascinated.

Seungwan's room smells like weed and perfume, spicy and citrusy. Her latest anthology is tossed to the side in favor of hands tangling through Jennie's hair in an attempt to braid. Jennie feels wistful and heavy. The poems were all sad and dreamy and in love and made her think of Joohyun, which made her feel guilty and useless and stupid. This is better, easy silence occasionally pierced through with Seungwan's tuneless hums.

It's been two months since she last saw Joohyun, two months of a half-mourning period which should never have happened in the first place. She's fine, mostly, it's fine, but she thinks about Joohyun sometimes and loses her breath. Can't touch herself without crying, even though it's okay when it's other people's hands all over her. She wears Joohyun's ring on her left index finger, twists it and twists it and twists it but doesn't take it off.

Seungwan notices and laces their fingers together. She hasn't brushed her own hair for a while, Jennie can tell because that's the only reason Seungwan ever wears it up. "Do you think you'll fall in love?" Seungwan asks conversationally.

Jennie narrows her eyes, and Seungwan laughs, high and effortless. She sounds like a summer breeze and all the happier poems. "Don't be stupid, Seungwan."

"I know, I know," Seungwan strokes through her hair again, pets her like a pretty doll she can keep safe in her bed forever. Jennie's eyes flutter shut because Seungwan can see through her enough without having them to stare into. "You're lonely, though."

"I'm lonely," Jennie echoes because she's learned how hard it is to hear someone lie about that when it's as sickeningly obvious as this. "Don't see what that has to do with love."

Seungwan hums in agreement. She knows this better than anyone else. She works through Jennie's hair, lingering on a particularly stubborn knot.

"Kiss me," Seungwan suggests easily after a few minutes have passed. It's unexpected but sentimental all the same.

Jennie inhales deeply. It's tempting, Seungwan is here and she's so good to Jennie. She's grinning down at her and she's gorgeous. But the last time she kissed Seungwan, she was kissing back in black and white, she knows it doesn't bother Seungwan but it bothers Jennie, a little bit, to know that Seungwan's soulmate is foolishly waiting and hurting even though Seungwan's made it quite clear. Which confuses Jennie, because she doesn't _care_ about soulmates, they don't work and she really doesn't. She wants _Seungwan_ to want and need as she pleases because that's the way it should be, so why aren't her lips on Seungwan's right now?

"Ah," Seungwan smiles a little more subdued, and it's not judgmental or unkind even though Jennie almost wishes it was, because then it would clear the fog out of her mind, remind her that this isn't about Seungwan's soulmate, this is about the two of them and no one else. "I know you wouldn't have hesitated if he wasn't in the picture." There she is again, seeing and knowing and making it all seem so simple. "I think you believe a little more than you're willing to admit."

Ashamed, Jennie pulls away, hair snagging on Seungwan's hands, rolling so her back is to Seungwan. She doesn't want to consider that. _Read again_ , she almost orders, a ready distraction, but that might just make her think about it more, dwell on everything a little too long. "Hold me," she demands instead, because the one thing she knows won't change is the constancy of Seungwan's embrace.

The script on Jennie's can is plain lines and royal blue.

It's the brand her father used to buy and she never grew out of it, even though it makes her feel a little sick to see the familiar label every time she opens her refrigerator. But it's too late to break the habit, reaching for cool aluminum and a soothing sort of numbness instead of thinking every time it's all too much.

But tonight is different. She smokes and drinks, smokes and drinks on her front doorstep looking up at the crescent moon hung isolated in the absence of stars, but her mind won't just _be quiet_.

She thinks about Chaeyoung, of course, has been since the last time they saw each other and Jennie just had to open her mouth to all the things that didn't need to be said.

Chaeyoung hasn't been around, save for a few _good morning!_ texts that Jennie sees too late for them to mean anything. Jennie wants it to stay like this, shallow. Superficial greetings left on read. She wants more: she wants to storm up to Chaeyoung and demand to know exactly why she's worth all this. She wants to be convinced that it's okay to let Chaeyoung have this and assured that she'll get something, anything in return. She wants less: she wants icy silence, to be left alone with the memories of Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung with her teeth bared in a nervous smile, Chaeyoung with the orderly life who wouldn't leave Jennie alone even if she never contacts Jennie again. She doesn't know what she wants.

There's angry shouting down the street, so Jennie stands, wobbles a bit as she makes her way inside. She splashes her face with cold water and is reminded that she is simultaneously more sober than she thought she was and more drunk than she'd like to be. She pulls on another sweatshirt and creeps out through the back door.

The walk is long but the chilly night air feels good. Jennie delights in the sting of it, breathes.

"Hello?" Chaeyoung's voice is small, sleepy and quiet when she picks up after two rings. "Jennie? Are you okay?"

Jennie steps on a bright green weed poking out of the barren sidewalk cracks. "I'm outside your building."

"Oh," Chaeyoung sounds immediately more alert. " _Oh_. Stay there."

Jennie laughs a little as Chaeyoung hangs up, because she didn't come all this way to run away again, and she's feeling a bit unsteady.

Chaeyoung is out in a minute, feet shoved into white sneakers, laces dragging behind her. She wraps an arm loosely around Jennie's waist and seems surprised when she doesn't move away. She stands too close in the elevator, hand poised, not quite touching, under Jennie's elbow.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, more hushed than she has to be. Her face is slightly puffy, hair falling out of its braid, and she's looking at Jennie as if she thinks she might still be dreaming.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Jennie replies bluntly. She doesn't glance over.

They reach the floor and Jennie wonders what she _is_ doing here.

Chaeyoung doesn't speak until they're seated at opposite ends of her couch, dark grey knit blanket draped over Jennie's crossed legs. "We _are_ soulmates," she states, as if they might forget. Jennie eyes her, lets herself stare long and heavy. Chaeyoung blushes high on her cheekbones, the lights are dim but shadows are good to her. "Are we... do you want to try this?"

"We're not trying anything," Jennie stares at the snow-white walls, sick of watching the shifts in Chaeyoung's expression and wishing and craving. "We're soulmates. But the universe isn't fair, soulmates just don't work for people like us. I can't _need_ someone like you."

"I want to know," Chaeyoung pauses. The silence is nearly unbearable. Jennie hears her sigh tiredly. "What it was that made you think you know everything about _us_ before we've even begun."

Jennie shakes her head. Chaeyoung is leaning forward, lip bitten between her teeth again. Her eyes are worried, disappointed, rueful, and Jennie feels helpless, young again. "What is it that makes you think you won't leave me?"

Chaeyoung haltingly crawls forward, bracing herself on the couch's arm, hovering slightly above Jennie. She stops her hand before her knuckles can brush over Jennie's cheek, swallowing as she fervently searches Jennie's face for _something_. Her words are muted, so faint they could almost pass as the walls groaning in anticipation. "Jennie, please... can I, can I kiss you?"

Jennie wants to lean back but there's nowhere to go. She wants to lean forward but she's scared, terrified, frozen, can't stand the possibility of losing herself again. She wants to stay like this forever, free to study Chaeyoung's parted lips, trying to decipher this particular yearning in her eyes.

So she doesn't do anything, lets her eyelids tremble closed and exhales everything in her lungs.

The first touch of Chaeyoung's lips is delicate; so is the next, and the next. Chaeyoung kisses her simple and sweet and tremulous.

And Jennie wonders if Chaeyoung can smell, taste the beer, the smoke on her breath. She halfway hopes she can, is so repulsed she runs far, far away, for the last time. And leaves Jennie alone and drunk and almost in love once more, totally, completely, finally.

Everything is grey.

Thirteen-year-old Jennie thinks she's older than she is and wishes the world would treat her as such. She thinks she knows everything there is to know and decides it's better to be lonely than spineless and used.

But in her more unguarded moments, all she wants is someone, _anyone_ , be it a mother or a brother or a lover, to wrap her up in their achingly warm arms and empty promises. So she can feel seen and remembered and loved.

She curls up in her bed and stares out of the curtainless windows, at the cold, silver stars, waiting and wishing for someone to take her away, kiss her the way this world has shaped her to be the opposite of: sweet, simple, tremulous.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are loved and cherished forever!


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